


Starfall

by noodlecatposts



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: "ABANDONED" RESTARTED AS THE ARCHERONS, Alternate Universe - Actors, Angst Prompt, F/M, SEE FINAL CHAPTER, Tumblr Prompt, angst with a twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlecatposts/pseuds/noodlecatposts
Summary: “Don’t marry him,” Rhys breathes, so quiet Feyre almost can’t hear him. His violet eyes shine so sincerely, so desperately, that Feyre is a little taken aback by it all, even though she knew it was coming.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some angst with a twist.

“Don’t marry him,” Rhys breathes, so quiet Feyre almost can’t hear him. His violet eyes shine so sincerely, so desperately, that Feyre is a little taken aback by it all, even though she knew it was coming.

She takes one step back in surprise, eyes wide with horror, stammering, “W-what?”

“You heard me,” Rhys persists, prowling towards her and away from the doorway, the one he charged through moments ago. His eyes burn with emotion, begging Feyre to reconsider.

Feyre is having trouble meeting his eye; she drops her gaze to her shoes. A simple pair of white heels. Rhys’s dress shoes click across the hardwood, stopping just shy of her own feet. She can feel that gaze staring down at her; Rhys takes her chin in two fingers, lifting her eyes to meet his own.

Grave seriousness taints his voice as he says, “Don’t marry him, darling.”

Feyre pulls her face from his hands, turning away from him and crossing the space, trying to take control back of the situation. How did they get here? What was she supposed to do? She puts as much distance between her and Rhys as possible, hissing, “ _Don’t call me that._ ”

Those eyes of his spark with the promise for trouble. A snarky comment like: _Do you have another name in mind? I could come up with a few._

Fucking bastard.

Instead, Rhys continues his argument, “You know you aren’t happy with him. _I know you aren’t—_ Look at you, darling. You’re fucking wasting away here, and he’s doing _nothing about it_.”

Yelling without raising his voice, that was what Rhys was doing. It was his preferred method of fighting, unlike Feyre. She prefers shouting.

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are to say that to me?”

Still, Feyre crosses her arms over her torso, timidly hiding the change in her appearance. Dieting really did suck. And his words struck truer to home than Feyre anticipated they would. Something she hadn’t been ready to hear yet.

“You don’t love him. You love me.”

Rage takes over Feyre’s good sense, and she spins on her heels, prepared to throw herself at Rhys—to hit or hug him, she didn’t know. Rhys stands much closer than Feyre expected, having followed her across the room.

She seethes, “Why can’t you just learn to let the fuck go?”

Rhys’s expression shutters; he pockets his hands, jaw clenching ever so slightly. A Rhys tell if there ever was one; sometimes, they slipped through. His voice is whisper-quiet as he tells Feyre, “I know you’re afraid of him, but I can help you. _Please_ , let me help you.”

Feyre shoves at his broad chest when Rhys closes the distance between them, bold as ever. Rhys hardly notices, but he catches her by the wrists when she attempts to strike out again. Feyre growls at him, eyes flaring with hate and warning and confusion. She tries to yank her hands free, but the force only pulls her closer to him.

Rhys drops her wrists and takes her face in his hands instead. The touch is so gentle that Feyre’s heart breaks a little. “I love you,” Rhys whispers, eyes searching hers. The room is so quiet, like all the air has escaped it. “I will always love you.”

Feyre is frozen in place as Rhys brings his face closer to hers. The desperate man before her gives Feyre ample opportunity to pull away from him, and Feyre sucks in an uneven breath at the feeling of his lips brushing against hers for the very first time. Feyre searches his face for a sign, looking for the trick at hand. There has to be a trick.

Rhys meets her in the middle for the next kiss. It’s long and passionate, and it sets Feyre’s skin aflame.

She whimpers. Just once. It’s enough to snap her out of it. To realize her mistake.

Feyre’s hand meets Rhys’s cheek like a clap of thunder. Rhys’s eyes go wide, and Feyre snarls in a vicious voice she hardly recognizes, “I don’t need, _or want_ , help! What I _want_ is for you to _get the fuck away from me!_ ”

The woman doesn’t wait for Rhys to respond. She runs from the room, charging out the door that he just entered. Feyre’s steps are short and limited, infuriating, in the white dress she wears. Feyre really, really hates the dress they picked out for her.

The door rattles the walls when Feyre slams in shut behind her, and then the world goes silent.

Feyre knows the rest of the scene well. She’s watched it enough times. Practiced it. Rhys standing in the middle of the room looking lost. His head hung low in defeat. The lights will fade to black.

And then: “Cut.”

Thunderous applause rings out from the crew. Someone wolf whistles, and Rhys’s distinct laughter rumbles from the other side of the set door. Feyre covers her face with her hands, relieved, and discovers tears. Fuck. She cried—that didn’t happen during their rehearsals.

A warm, familiar hand drops to her shoulder, and Feyre’s hands fall away. Rhys is giving her his signature smirk, and Feyre bursts into laughter at the sight of the red mark on his face. He totally deserved it. Even if it all was fake.

The tension breaks from both of their shoulders; Rhys grins wide, showing off all his perfect, white teeth.

“You’ve got one hell of a right hook. Did you know that?” Rhys’s eyes sparkle like the deep waters of the Sidra. He rubs his jaw. They’d decided not to fake it. _Do your worse_ , Rhys challenged her.

“I may have gotten a little carried away,” Feyre says with a wry smile.

“Carried away!” Helion exclaims. He’s the director, and he’s grinning like a fiend. “That was _brilliant_! You two have been holding out on me!”

“You know how we like to surprise you, Helion,” Rhys winks at Feyre for good measure, and she blushes despite herself. They’ve been working up to this moment for a while now; their last scene of the season.

Helion rambles for a little bit, giving some pointers on what he’d like to see for his next take. Feyre doesn’t think it’s going to get better than that, but it’s unheard of for them to nail a scene on the first try. They need footage from different angles, so that they can piece together an interesting scene.

“Places!” Someone calls. Feyre heads back for her starting mark, and Rhys heads back to the other side of the door. They had to wait for the mark on his face to fade some, used makeup to make it disappear entirely.

“You look lovely in white, Feyre,” her co-star purrs in that sensuous voice that’s landed him more than his fair share of supermodels. “Tamlin’s a lucky guy.”

She ignores how Tamlin’s name makes her gut twist. Instead, Feyre points one finger at Rhysand Knight, a grin threatening her face. She’s an actor; she’s really good at hiding the truth.

“Behave, Mister.”

Rhys’s eyes shine with delight, “Never.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU was previously titled What I Want, but I changed it because I named it when it was going to be a one-shot and now it’s not. *shrugs* This AU takes place in the same world as Noisy Neighbors (Rowaelin Band AU), and the Feysand that cameos in that fic is from this story!

##  **_Starfall_** **wraps Season 1.**

Sometimes, Feyre doesn’t eat.

Sometimes, its because she has no appetite. Sometimes, it’s because she doesn’t like the food at the craft table. Sometimes, there’s someone there to remind her, but most of the time, nearly all of the time, Feyre just— _forgets_. 

A lot of the time, she forgets _because_ she doesn’t have the time.

Oddly, fame does not come with spare time; in fact, it takes all up all of Feyre’s time and then some. It requires more time than any one person has in a day. There are only 24 hours in a day, and yet, Feyre often finds herself with over 40 hours of work. Sometimes, she falls asleep on a plane and wakes up having lost hours, falling victim to the time zones.

Today is one of those days. 

Press tours are—exhausting. They’re confusing, and they’re demanding. Feyre often gets confused about all of the details, can’t keep track of everything going gon around her. She forgets who/what/where, says the wrong things, and never knows the name of the network/magazine/blog the interview will show/print/publish in. 

Sometimes, Feyre doesn’t think she’s cut out for this lifestyle. It’s more than she ever bargained for, but when the casting director told Feyre that she got the part in the hit series _Starfall_ , no one ever expected she’d become a household name. It was supposed to be a couple of episodes, a handful of lines, a character to stir up a little drama.

No one was counting on Feyre’s chemistry with Rhys.

“Are you feeling alright, darling?” Her costar asks from his place beside her. The way his accent purrs the word darling muddles her mind, or maybe it’s the fact that Feyre’s body thinks it’s nearly midnight, but the clock says it’s barely noon. 

“I’m fine,” she grits out, unable to resist rubbing her eyes for the hundredth time. She knows she’s ruined her makeup by now; the stylist is going to fuss at her. Rhys’s blue eyes are dark with concern, their usual mirth nowhere in sight. Feyre avoids meeting them at all costs.

“You’re looking a little… pale,” Rhys says, searching for the right word. Feyre snorts at his hesitation; she’s never known Rhys to be anything other than a cocky bastard. “Do you want to take a break?”

A break. They have one of those scheduled in an hour or so. This interview is their last, for the first of the day anyway, but there’s a photoshoot involved, too. Mother, Feyre hates photoshoots. Feyre hates press tours. Feyre just wants to go home and _sleep._

Feyre shakes her head. “No, let’s get this over with.”

They’re in between interviews, hiding in a room reserved just for them, away from prying eyes. Rhys’s gaze weighs heavily on her shoulders as they wait, and Feyre sends him a pointed look when she can bear it no longer. 

“ _What_?” Her voice is sharp, filled with impatience and warning. Those blues eyes are infallible. Rhys doesn’t back down for a moment.

“I’m going to push the rest of the day,” he tells her. “You look ready to collapse.”

“What? No! I’m fine, Rhys,” she insists, the panic of disappointing someone waking her up. Her senses go from foggy to the sharpest clarity. Feyre is the new girl; she can’t do anything halfway, can’t let anything fall through the cracks.

“Already done,” Rhys tells her. He makes a show of rubbing his temples and frowning. “I have _quite_ a headache.”

“You’re a horrible actor,” she tells him, choking back a laugh. A smile plays at both of their lips.

There’s a knock at the door, and someone walks in. An assistant Feyre doesn’t know tells them that its time for their next interview; she’ll be waiting outside until they’re ready. The interviewer waits for them; they’re the celebrities. 

Feyre Archeron is a celebrity. Feyre Archeron is _famous_. What a curveball.

“Well,” she sighs. “Let’s get this over with so you can take your nap, Old Man.”

“You wound me,” Rhys clutches his heart, but the teasing is all good-natured.

He has a few years on Feyre, that’s true, but if anything, it only makes him look more attractive. Feyre’s face flushes with the thought, and she prays that the foundation she wears hides the evidence of her stray thoughts about Rhys—from Rhys.

Feyre chuckles, standing up and smoothing out her skirt. “Poor baby.”

Everything goes black.

##  **Feyre Archeron faints at Press Tour.**

“Feyre?” A frantic voice calls her name. 

A groan escapes her lips in response; she’s confused, doesn’t know where she is or when she fell asleep. She blinks a few times, and a pair of panicked blue eyes come into focus. Rhys’s worried face follows.

“What… happened?” Feyre asks, sitting up. She flushes at the realization that she was lying in Rhys’s lap; they’re still in their room, but there are people here with them now. They look concerned. Feyre is horrified. 

“You fainted—straight into my arms,” Rhys tells her, hands hovering as if to catch her again. He cracks a smile, but there’s an edge to it, a tightness in his eyes that betrays his concern. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

People chuckle, but Rhys pays them no mind. He brushes the hair from her face. His voice is teasing when he speaks again, “You could’ve just asked, Darling. You know how I love to cuddle with you.”

“Prick,” Feyre snarls, slapping his hand away from her face. This time Rhys grins openly, his shoulders relaxing in relief.

“Are you okay?” An assistant asks. “Do we need to call someone?”

Shame floods Feyre’s face. Her skin is so hot that there’s no way Rhys or anyone else in the room misses it. “No—I, uh. I think I forgot to eat is all. I’ll be fine.”

Rhys frowns for a moment, studying her appearance with a heavy gaze that sees right through her. The smile he turns on their audience is blinding, and Feyre is reminded once again how jealous she is of his effortless charisma. 

“Feyre has been very busy charming the pants off of every interviewer she’s come into contact with today,” he says. Feyre snorts; what she’s done today couldn’t be farther from the truth. Rhys is the one with all the charm.

“She was afraid to let anyone down by asking for a break.” He glances at her from his spot on the floor beside her, blue eyes filled with mischief. “I, on the other hand, am not feeling very well. I think we’ll be needing to take a break for a while if that’s okay.”

A chorus of sympathy. Feyre rolls her eyes internally at Rhys. The clever bastard. It takes him seconds to have their crowd eating out of his hands, completely forgetting about the scene Feyre’s just created.

Rhys’s grip is firm on her elbow as he helps Feyre to her feet. The world moves for a moment, but then her vision clears. She doesn’t miss how Rhys doesn’t let her go. 

“Let’s go get some lunch, shall we?” Rhys tells her softly. Feyre can’t fight the thankful smile she sends his way. Her costar may be a real piece of work, but Feyre is learning he’s more than what meets the eye.

##  **Rhysand Knight and Feyre Archeron seen leaving the Antica Conference Center.**

##  *****


	3. Chapter 3

#### Hey guys!

####    
I’ve decided to revamp _Starfall_ and start from the very beginning. I don't want to delete these two one-offs for those who really like them, and I may just include them in the new story. In fact, the first chapter does call back to the dialogue from the first one-shot I posted. Either way, I won’t be updating this particular story anymore. Everything will be carried on in _The Archerons._ It's still Feysand, still a Celeb/Actor AU, and still in the same realm as Noisy Neighbors. It's just getting a better story, I think.

####  _  
_ Thanks. ♥️


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